Confessions of an Outlaw
by pacejunkie
Summary: A novelization of Outlaws. Charlie comes to terms with being a killer.


Title: Confessions of an Outlaw (Charlie, Sayid, Hurley, Claire)

Rating: T

Summary: A novelization of Outlaws. Charlie comes to terms with being a killer.  
Warnings: violence  
Status of Fic: Completed.  
Author's Notes: for **cylune**

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, nor do I own any rights to the television show "Lost". They were created by JJ Abrams and Damon Lindelof and they belong to them, Touchstone, and ABC.

**Chapter One**

Charlie never thought he could have that kind of power over anything until he fired a gun for the first time. But power was a slippery, elusive thing. Ethan had it at first. He had the power to give life and to take it. He took Claire and he made her disappear. He took the very breath from Charlie's body and left him for dead. Ethan was power personified.

Charlie didn't think he could ever triumph over such a raw display of force. After all, he wasn't big or strong. He could barely win a fistfight without having to play dirty to do it. Yet he had triumphed, in the ugliest of ways. Charlie wrestled away Ethan's power and used it against him. Now the memory of what he did ate away at his soul. That same power that he had once controlled took hold of him and wouldn't let go, and Charlie could feel himself quietly slipping away. He was changed, irrevocably altered.

The first change Charlie noticed was the new thoughts that took up residence in his mind. Whether he was eating, talking or busying himself with any number of island tasks his thoughts remained unchanged. They were thoughts of violence, of revenge, of rage. He had thought he would have assassinated these feelings along with his victim but instead they had festered, attaching themselves like parasites feeding on a host. This frightened him, so he began to isolate himself, for fear of the very power he once controlled.

The next change Charlie noticed was the dreams. Vivid and haunting, deep and disturbing, and in as many variations as the human imagination can fathom, Charlie dreamed of Ethan. In his dreams Ethan returned attempting to regain his lost power. In order to prevent this Charlie had to kill him over and over again. The dreams are merciless, a never ending carousel of sin. His dreams frightened him even more than his waking thoughts, so when Charlie went to sleep he woke himself frequently through the night in an effort to keep his dreams at bay.

The last change Charlie noticed was the physical changes. He would hear a noise in the jungle and panic—a stomach turning, breath shortening, heart pounding autonomic response that was tangible. He would sweat and tremble, like a small animal that sensed a predator. Only Charlie was now both predator and prey, his own worst enemy. He feared the noises of the jungle, so Charlie began staying on the beach where it was open and nothing could lurk in the shadows.

In this way Charlie coped with the killing of Ethan Rom. But there was one thing left to do. He had to bury him. Charlie hoped that by disposing of Ethan's body, it would release his mind from terror's grasp and he would be able to move on, power and thus, balance to his world, restored.

Charlie sat in the shelter of the caves, assembling a collection of spare parts into what he hoped would be a functioning shovel. The sun had barely risen but Charlie rarely slept much anymore so instead he set to work quietly so as not to disturb the fortunate whose dreams were peaceful.

He was approached by Claire, who had herself begun waking up early lately. She had complained to Charlie about the pain in her back from sleeping on the hard ground, so she too had given up on the luxury of sleep.

"Hey" said Claire in a greeting as she joined Charlie on the large rock.

Charlie returned the greeting absentmindedly, his thoughts focused on both the task at hand and the task that lay before him. Then he realized that in order to be polite he should probably say something more.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, careful to avoid eye contact for fear of his thoughts spreading like a virus.

"Very pregnant" said Claire, "I um... I had some dreams last night. Actually, more like memories. You were in them."

Charlie knew only one kind of memory these days. Instinctively, he replied, "Sorry."

Claire was undeterred. She must have thought Charlie was just exhibiting his usual self-deprecating sense of humour. "Thought I'd see if you wanted to go for a walk" she asked.

Charlie looked at Claire this time, his voice tinged with genuine regret, "Sorry. I have to……do something. See ya later okay?"

"Sure" said Claire quietly, eyes downcast, clearly disappointed.

Charlie hated to push her away, but he had no other choice. If he wanted the torment to end, Ethan had to be laid to rest. There would be time for walks later once life returned to normal.

**Chapter Two**

Charlie had intended to perform this dirty work alone, but Hurley had seen him struggle with the corpse in the tarp and like the friend that he was, offered his assistance. The two companions each grabbed an end of the makeshift shroud and carried Ethan's body to the beginnings of a freshly dug gravesite. The sun was rising on what Charlie hoped would prove to be a more promising day.

Still staring down at the fruits of his labours, Charlie panted, "Hurley, look, I appreciate the help. You don't have to. I killed Ethan. I can bury him." It seemed that pushing people away was becoming a habit with him.

But Hurley was nonplussed and responded in his usual lighthearted way despite the grimness of the scene. "Yeah, 'til he rises from the dead. Dude, I know how this works. This is going to end with you and me running through the jungle screaming crying. He catches me first because I'm heavy and... I get cramps."

He meant it as a joke, but Charlie looked at Hurley with surprised concern. _How the bloody hell did he know that?_ Hurley couldn't have known the content of Charlie's dreams, and that in his sleep Ethan never died. He kept coming back, going after everyone Charlie knew, so the killing never stopped. Charlie couldn't seem to kill enough to make Ethan go away. His heart started to race again and Charlie quickly looked down and began to widen the grave he had begun digging earlier. But inside his head he heard gunshots. _Bang, bang, bang……_

"You alright?" asked Hurley. Charlie heard his words from somewhere far away, but he knew he would never be able to respond loudly enough to be heard over those gunshots, so instead he kept digging.

When their task was complete, Charlie was disappointed to find that he felt no different. So after he parted from Hurley, he found himself a list full of tasks he could perform in solitude.

**Chapter Three**

When Sayid found him, Charlie was husking coconuts on a sharp spike sticking out of the ground. Charlie had hoped the noise and repetitive motion would quiet his thoughts, but instead, he was reminded yet again of violence. The very act felt like a stabbing, the senseless slaughter of innocent coconuts. It would have been comical if it hadn't been so graphic, his memories still so fresh. For the first time that day, Charlie was grateful for the presence of another.

"You're developing quite a talent" remarked Sayid. _Another sodding comedian._ And here Charlie thought that Sayid had no sense of humour. Still, Charlie appreciated the company, deducing quickly that Hurley must have asked him to come here, so he was careful not to turn him away.

"Yeah" Charlie responded with a small laugh, in as lighthearted a way as his damaged psyche would allow.

Sayid sat and watched Charlie stab away at the coconut, a physical if not emotional release.

The silence began to unnerve Charlie. "I get it. You're here to check up on me" he said, hoping to gain the upper hand early in the conversation, a weak imitation of a power struggle.

"You killed a man" was all Sayid said.

_No bloody kidding,_ thought Charlie.

Instead he presented his well rehearsed defense, "A man who killed one of us, who kidnapped Claire, who strung me up and left me for dead. He deserved to die. I'd do it again in a minute. Pardon me if I'm fresh out of bad feeling." His statement was supposed to make him feel better. Every time he said it he hoped it would make him feel better. Why the hell wasn't it making him feel better?

Sayid seemed to be listening, but then he began to relate a personal tale, "When I was in the army in Tikrit, in Iraq, the man who lived next door was a policeman. One day his car was rigged with a bomb. It killed his wife and 3 young children instead. They caught the man who did it. I volunteered to be on the firing squad and I did my duty without a single ounce of remorse. Then, for no reason, I found myself waking up at night replaying what I did in my head."

_And a psychic too,_ thought Charlie, and for the first time he began to wonder if he was not the only person in the world who ever felt this way. Still, Charlie was not ready to drop his defenses just yet. _Time for a joke._

"It looks like you're the one who needs checking up on" he said.

Sayid smiled at the obvious attempt at deflection. Then he pressed on, "All I'm saying is that what happened with Ethan will be with you for the rest of your life."

That was not quite what Charlie wanted to hear. He kept hoping this would all go away, that each task would bring him nearer to some closure. Maybe Sayid meant that it would get better with time, but that the tiniest of wounds would still be left behind forever unhealed. It was up to Charlie whether he was going to allow that wound to become infected or fade away to a gentle scar, carrying only the lightest flicker of a memory that no longer interfered with function. Sayid must have borne the scars of many such memories. It was then that Charlie realized that if anyone understood what he was going through, it was Sayid.

Charlie dropped the last coconut along with his guard. He looked at Sayid, Charlie's eyes pleading for rescue. "Any suggestions?" he asked.

Sayid had only one. "You're not alone. Don't pretend to be."

Charlie felt his forced isolation coming to an end. It had failed to bring him peace. Perhaps peace only existed in the comforting space between two people. After Sayid left, Charlie got up to go find Claire.

**Chapter Four**

Charlie found her sitting alone on the beach. Isolation didn't seem to be doing wonders for her either. Pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind for her sake he approached her with the warmest smile he could muster, crouching down to meet her eyes.

"Hey" said Charlie.

"Hey" Claire responded. She seemed herself a bit guarded this time. Charlie wondered if he hadn't hurt her unintentionally with his earlier rejection.

"Want to take that walk now?" he asked, presenting his question like an olive branch.

Claire accepted. "Sure".

Charlie stood and offered his arm for support. The simple act of getting up from the ground was becoming a monumental task for her. _I suppose we all have our crosses to bear,_ thought Charlie with humour. As they walked and Claire began to share her memories of Charlie, he basked in the space between them, finding peace there at last.

**THE END**


End file.
